A woman is accused of witchcraft in 17th-century Livonia in the wild, but uneven, animated Dog of God, directed by Raitis & Lauris Abele, and presented as part of the Fantasia International Film Festival.
Dog of God immediately tells you what type of movie it is. With a pounding score, and looking and feeling like it’s ripped from a medieval Heavy Metal, a man rushes a giant, fighting, and ultimately… I’m not sure if this is the right word… deballs it. The giant is the Devil, and the man is a werewolf: the titular Dog of God. We’ll see him later, but this sequence with the over-the-top animation, crudity, and wild abandon sets the score for the film, for better or worse, in Raitis & Lauris Abele’s Dog of God.
The rest of the film occurs in a 17th-century Baltic States village, following the ebb and flow of violence, accusations, madness, hypocrisies, and more of the villagers, their priests, the accused tavern owner, and others. The basic run-through is that Neza is the tavern owner in the isolated village. She’s accused of witchcraft, setting the town to turn on itself in response, and dealing with all the strange and supernatural surrounding their lives. In addition, the people of the town deal with their issues, alcoholism, sex drives, hypocrasies, and the dangers of zeolot religion. Eventually, the Dog of God reenters the narrative to bring it all to a head. It’s a lot. Frankly, I was often lost with what exactly was happening. Even if the details are fuzzy, it is a film of hypocrisy in the church and persons, with a cynical look at humanity. But honestly, that’s not new, feeling the surface level of a 15-year-old edge lord. In addition, it’s a film filled with scat in jokes in action, piss, blood, and other bodily fluids. The sort that Holy Shit is a literal thing. It feels forced in the perversion, and at one hundred and five minutes, it stretches the concept and ideas to the breaking point.
The animation mostly works in the film’s favor. It gives it all an otherworldly quality, even in the non-fantastical parts. It allows the filmmakers to open the world in a big way, not having to try to create fidelity with a real-life location. The surreal nature of the animation goes a long way. The humans are all rotoscoped. I’ve always been on the fence on rotoscoping. It can be life-like, but also slavishly sticking to the traced over human actors can create a feeling of acting through molasses, slowing and flattening performances. It can also work into the uncanny valley, but that does help build the ethereal feeling.
In the non-human animation, Dog of God leans into extreme detail, a most impressive feat. With how it moves and looks, I was reminded of [adult swim]’s Metacolpyse, fitting as that has the same cynical streak about the world, although much better written (I love the show, not a dig). Both share the “this is the world metal music thinks it exists in.” There is a creative largeness to the animated world, with a wonderfully grotesque sense of design. It may be enough for many to smooth out the story troubles, just leaning into the weird world and the visuals based around it. 
I do appreciate the squishy, gory, over-the-top weirdness of Dog of God, even if the story itself is muddy and I roll my eyes at “gross for grossness’ sake.” Dog of God might play better with those more into the piss and poop perversity or revel in anything cynical. I’ve had that phase. To my current self, it feels forced and surface-level. However, the animation and the detail of it all can be enough. Dog of God is ambitious and wild, but not for all tastes.
Dog of God is presented through the Fantasia International Film Festival, running from July 16 to August 3rd, 2025.